


With all my love, your Moonbeam

by Downtoncat



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Diary/Journal, Fluff, Homophobia, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downtoncat/pseuds/Downtoncat
Summary: A story composed of diary entries and letters exchanged between Thomas Barrow & Richard Ellis. Romance and long-distance relationship.*ratings will likely change as new chapters are added





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title will eventually make sense ;)

29 August 1927  


My dearest Richard,  


I know it's only been a week, but words cannot describe how much I miss you already. Please, do not think me too common for saying this, but I'm being honest and I'm not ashamed to admit that those few days that I spent with you were some of the most wonderful days of my life.

How are things in London? I should assume there is plenty going on when you're working for the King. Here at D, it's generally always the same. Old Mr C has reluctantly returned to his cottage and to his gardening after you've all left, but he seemed to be rather eager to stay a while longer and was very willing to help with anything that required assistance. If I didn't know him better, I would suspect he was after his old job.

In fact, I did fear that Lord G might no longer wish for me to return to my position, considering my assertive (but justified) reply after he so very graciously attempted to shaft me aside for the duration of the royal visit. Thankfully, it seems that all of them have at long last decided to acknowledge the obvious; this place cannot stand without me. Fear not, I'm slaving away just as I was before.  
  
With endless work I keep quite busy, we all do. There is always something to arrange, supervise, something to take care of or to mend... Tomorrow, a man is coming over to see why the stove isn't working properly (Mrs P cannot stop complaining about it), and next week we have some workers arriving to fix a leak in the roof in the west wing of the manor.

I miss you terribly! I miss your smile, your humour, and most of all your company. Your clever and witty remarks have truly been a reminder of how dull life at D can be. Of course, we both know that there is more. I can confide in you in ways I can never dream of confiding in anyone else here. I miss the candid conversations between "two ordinary people" who have nothing better to do than to walk the streets of York at night and just talk and talk, for hours. About anything. About everything. I could do that with you and never tire of it.

I keep the pendant which you gave me close to my heart; I carry it in my breast pocket. I should hate to sound overly sentimental, but it makes me feel like you're always there beside me. I hope you don't find this too silly; if you do, forgive me. I would never have put such words in writing before I met you, but I feel like I can bare my soul to you like I could to no one else before. I know it in my heart that you will never betray my trust.

I'm very much hoping that they haven’t intercepted the gift which I sent to you along with this letter. I should have given it to you on the day you left, but I was awestruck by your beautiful present. I completely forgot to give _you_ something you can remember _me_ by in return.

Do let me know if you've received it. My father left it to me. He said it's been in our family for generations, but who can tell? I'm not even sure whether it's real silver or not, but it’s the most valuable thing I own, and I want you to have it. However, you’ll notice it doesn’t work.

After you left D, I sat down in my room, feeling the loneliness slowly creep around me, and the only thing keeping it at bay was your gift. The pendant gave me hope and something to look forward to. _You_ gave me hope. I watched the clock on the wall tick by, feeling each second slip through my fingers, feeling helpless and unable to turn back the time, to bring you back to me, even if all we could steal was just another minute.

We can’t turn back the time, but we can keep _it_ and our memories frozen - until we meet again. 

I set it to show the exact time when you left; 9:32 am. Think of it as _our_ time. Not yours, not mine; but _ours_. My wish is that you would look at the watch every day and remember me. Remember us. Live your life and I'll live mine, let us go on our separate ways for now if we must - but _our_ time together will continue when we next see each other. 

There is so much that I would like to tell you, if only to hear your voice responding. There are words I should like to write down, but I fear what that might mean for either of us if my letter ever comes into the wrong hands. I would imagine that every letter addressed to the palace probably goes through thorough inspection. How is it with that?  
  
I struggle with making my writing clear enough for you to understand it, yet ambiguous enough so that nothing which could potentially cause trouble can be discerned from it. I even hesitated addressing you by your name in the letter; you can always throw away the envelope, but if you decide to keep these letters, I suppose we ought to keep things vague? I've wondered whether it was safe to sign the letter the way I did - oh, but I wish so ardently that we could write to each other freely, without fear of where we could end up if we dared do so.  
  
You saved me from much more than just that awful and reckless incident. You shone down like a moonbeam of silver light and breathed life into me, saved me from the emptiness that was devouring my heart, and I wish that I could tell it to the world.  
  
  
  
I'm eagerly awaiting your response and yearn for the day when I get to see you again, even though I fear it might not be that soon.  
  
Yours sincerely, T


	2. Chapter 2

2 September, 1927

My darling T,

I was delighted to receive your beautiful and touching letter. The watch wasn’t confiscated, do not worry. I thank you dearly for your beautiful present which is resting safely in my hand as I'm writing this. I will do my best to be its worthy keeper.

I’m amazed that you should remember the exact time of our parting, but even if you’ve only estimated the minutes, I admire your poetic soul and your clever mind ever more for the beautiful symbolism in which they have enveloped our sad farewell. I’m looking at the watch at this very moment and thinking of you fondly, cherishing our minutes preserved in amber and waiting for the day when _our_ time together can continue.

Despite me being well-accustomed to my life here, I cannot seem to get back into the swing of things properly. I’m afraid that your sunshine face has put a rather inconvenient spell on me. Now that I know you, I feel an acute awareness that there is something important and valuable missing in my every day. Without your company, hours – albeit ever so busy – drag on like days. I long to see your bright smile that would chase away the fog and clouds from the dreary old London!

It pleases me to hear that things at D have returned to their old ways, above all as far as your job is concerned. As you write in your letter, I can see how challenging holding the reins again and managing everything can get – but even if the C family couldn't have trusted you with handling _that_ important visit, I'm firmly convinced that you would have been (and are now) managing things far better than only adequately. I've seen you do your job, I can say with absolute objectivity that Lady M and Lord G were in the wrong. I'm glad that the Cs have realized how valuable you are to them, it was high time.

How are the children doing; miss S, young master G? I know you dote on the girl and the boy especially. It’s good to know that you are busy enough so that your mind isn't preoccupied with the bittersweet memories of our time together. I find it flattering that you should think of me so much, I must admit – but how I hate to hear of your loneliness.

I feel humbled that you are comfortable enough with me to entrust me with the feelings which you’ve expressed in your letter. Never worry that you sound silly or common – you never could to me. 

It reassures me that the pendant brings you at least some sort of consolation, but I dream of hearing your infectious laughter and pressing my lips to yours once more, kissing your pain away. Sadly, as you’ve predicted, it is very unlikely that we shall be given the opportunity to see each other anytime soon.

On Thursday, H.M. (it might be safer to refer to him with this acronym in our future letters, even you, I’d recommend) sets off for the south of the country; Hampshire, Dorset, Devon, and then I believe all the way to Cornwall. A busy man, needless to say. I, naturally, must accompany him, so if you wish to write to me during the course of the following month or so, I’ve put down an address for you in the end of my letter.

As much as I've wished we could see each other sooner, I'm afraid I'll be detained and even farther away from you until further notice. I’ll write some more and let you know how the sunnier parts of the country are faring, but you don’t suppose I could telephone you one day perhaps? If I remember correctly, the telephone is in your study so we might get some privacy?

I’m glad to see that you’re learning to be more circumspect; it was very wise of you to encrypt your letter as you did. Yes, things do tend to get thoroughly examined here, but on the other hand a great number of letters and parcels arrives every day and there are so many more important people to inspect other than myself... I doubt that our correspondence should fall under a watchful eye, but it’s always wiser to be safe.

Your letter arrived still originally sealed, but the parcel with the gift had clearly been opened and subjected to inspection, which is no surprise. The watch hadn’t been taken apart, you needn’t worry, it is in pristine condition. As long as you avoid sending me anything that could be mistaken for an assassination weapon, I believe we should be fine.

Still, it is a good idea to keep as much of our correspondence as possible under wraps – just in case – because I’m certainly adamant about keeping each and every single one of your letters that I receive.

It pains me as well that we must play by those rules, but perhaps we could find a way around them? Maybe at the very least we could agree on secret names to call each other? It won't be as satisfying as uncensored writing would be, but we could revel in the fact that we have a secret of our own. Would you be interested?

I hope you won't mind my unoriginality as I take the liberty of singing this letter with a comparison which you attributed to me in your own lines. Let me know if you find it too soppy.

I kiss you ardently in hopes that you won't hold it against me

With all my love, your Moonbeam


	3. Chapter 3

6 September, 1927

Another exhausting but fairly ordinary day.

Just finished writing a letter to Rich, will head over to the village tomorrow morning to have it posted.

Had some guests over for dinner this evening; Lord Howard and his wife, some distant cousins of Lord Grantham. Should have been noting too out of the ordinary, but an incident happened nonetheless. I ordered one of the hallboys to fetch some wine from the cellar, only to have him drop the bottle as he was carrying it up the stairs. Thankfully there was more than one bottle from that particular year that they wanted upstairs, so I didn’t have to look a fool in front of Lord Grantham.

The stove and the leak in the roof have finally been repaired, but it looks like there’s a never-ending line of problems with this house. Apparently there is mould in some of the vacant servants’ bedrooms in the attic, and we’ve been neglecting it for far too long. Will have to sort that out too, as soon as possible. Lady Mary wants it done before she and Mr Talbot leave for London on Monday, as she apparently thinks I can just whip out my magic wand and make the problem go away. Might as well admit it to my diary – moments like this make me glad that master George takes more after Mr Matthew in character.

I’m starting to sound like Carson whenever I complain, but in truth, times are changing. Most of the old, reliable staff are gone or on their way to leave Downton. As if we weren’t lacking people who could fill their shoes, each of the newcomers is less trained than the previous one, young people determined to make service only their starting point before they move on to greater things in life. I can’t even name the hallboys anymore and there are new faces among the maids every few weeks. Mrs Hughes says she’s tired of training new girls only to see them leave after no time at all.

As challenging as my job is at times, I’m very much glad to have it; I’ve got what I always wanted, but yet… It’s strange. I do feel a sense of responsibility, an obligation to these people (the latter is very odd, coming from me), but don’t I have an obligation to myself first?

After that night in York I realized how much wider the world is and how much more there could be for me. It’s not about thrill-seeking or risking my life by going to places like that old warehouse. It's about freedom. I now know that there are people out there like me, living far more freely than I ever could, considering my job and position.

I’m jealous of that. I may be the butler here, but ironically I control everyone under me except _my own _life.

As much as I value the stability and my influence here, is it worth the loneliness that comes with it? The family decides where they'll go and whether we, the staff, are coming along - if it suits us or not. It’s never bothered me half as much before, because I never in a million years thought that I would find someone who I wanted to be with and who I needed to get to.

Of course, the Talbots are going to London _now_ – now, when it’s useless to _us_. Apparently, the King is visiting the south of England during this month, and Rich has gone with him. Even when a tiny glimmer of hope arises for the two of us, something has to go wrong.

More and more often my mind wanders off to him. How I miss him, my darling Moonbeam!

In letters we call each other by secret names so that our identities are better protected. Richard is Moonbeam and it suits him perfectly, but I’ve been struggling with mine. He wrote in his letter that he loves my “sunshine face”, so I figured that it might fit the theme if I start signing my letters with “Sunray”.

_He’s_ the only thing on my mind worth musing about. He’s real and yet he remains a dream. Intangible, nothing but a beautiful memory to me. Someone I’ve know and lost and I have no idea when I will see him again! I can’t bear that it must stay this way for months to come!

I dream of him during daytime and at night; of his low voice whispering in my ear, of his warm palm against the side of my neck, his face leaning in closer, his soft lips kissing mine which are already willingly parted...

I find myself waking up, covered in drops of sweat and desire, like a silly young boy with his first crush, feeling things which I haven’t felt in years, and yet- and yet as ridiculous as all this foolishness is, it makes me feel alive! Even if being awake leaves a gaping hole behind.

I could talk to Rich about anything, but there are things in my heart that I can never mention, not even to _him_ – and not because I think he wouldn’t understand, but because I’ve already bared my heart to him more than I find it prudent, more than I ever expected I could to anyone.

I wish I could tell him that I not only keep his pendant in the pocket of my livery, but that I put it on my bedside table each night before I go to sleep and think of Rich, saying goodnight to him in foolish hopes that maybe he can somehow hear me in spirit. I could never tell him that much; it’s absolutely daft.

I can't admit to him that I'm still afraid. What if he finds my words too mawkish, my letters too eager and frequent? What if he gets bored of our correspondence and seeks comfort in someone else’s arms? Someone who’s there, someone who can touch him and kiss him and tell him in person how much he means to him… I know I’m being irrational! I know that deep down my fears are unjustified. I’ve made myself completely vulnerable to Richard, but he replied only with the kindest words, banishing any reason for my doubts. I know I can trust him and I do - I'm only worried because I can't bring myself to believe that someone could care for me so deeply.

It's almost a dream. I feel I’ve wasted so many years chasing fog and pretty smiles that were never mine to have, but now there’s someone who wants me! Someone who honestly and most ardently wants me and isn’t afraid to tell me. Rich writes dangerous words, but oh how they set every inch of my body on fire!

I’ve been re-reading his letter every night since I received it. He wants to telephone me, and I sent him the dates for the most appropriate times when we could talk. I know I’ll only get to hear his voice, but the thought brings more joy to me than anything has in a long while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even though phone operators were a major thing especially around this era, T&R *could* technically do without one if they had dial telephones which did exist at the time apparently (aka this convo could have happened without an operator directing the call and potentially listening in). A tiny bit of leeway I guess. Just engage the suspension of disbelief and enjoy the phone sex. ;)

It was around half past ten in the evening when the telephone rang. Thomas, who was sitting at his desk and disinterestedly going through the account books, nearly jumped to his feet from surprise. He was expecting a call, that’s why he was still in his study, but it startled him nonetheless.

He immediately picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear whilst speaking into the mouthpiece.

“H-hello?” he asked hopefully, then quickly remembered to add: “This is Downton Abbey.”

“Hello, this is Richard Ellis from His Majesty’s service. May I speak to the butler, Thomas Barrow?”

Thomas had been holding his breath the entire time the voice was speaking.

“Rich, it’s me,” he said quietly, feeling the corners of his mouth lifting upwards.

He heard a soft laugh on the other side.

“Thought as much, but can’t be too careful,” the voice replied. “Are you alone? Can you talk?”

Thomas’s eyes darted towards the door of his study that was opened a crack. He muttered a quick ‘wait a second’ into the mouthpiece before he laid the receiver on the desk and rushed over to the door. He threw a quick look up and down the hallway. He thought that most of the staff had already gone to sleep, but there was still a light in the servants’ hall and some indistinct voices conversing. Thomas carefully closed the door shut and returned to the telephone on his desk.

“I’m back,” he said and lowered his voice again, cupping a hand around the mouthpiece of the phone so as to make their conversation even more intimate and private. “Rich, it’s so good to hear you!”

“You too,” Richard’s voice said contently on the other side. It sounded a bit muffled and not quite as it did in person, but it was his voice no doubt. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” Thomas replied, but it wasn’t quite true. He’d been missing Richard terribly, but now that he was hearing his voice he was too overwhelmed to think of anything else. “And you?”

“Alright, I can’t complain,” the voice in the telephone said. “Although seeing your bonny face would certainly lift my spirits.”

Thomas lifted his hand and pressed it against his breast pocket to feel the pendant under his fingertips.

“Where are you now currently? How are things?”

“We’re in Dorset,” Richard replied. “It’s quite nice, I sent you something in the letter, but I only posted it today so you won’t have received it yet.”

Thomas smiled blissfully. Richard’s voice was the most beautiful song he’d ever heard.

“I had a dream about you,” the other man continued. “Glad I get to tell it to you instead of writing it down, don’t think I’d dare.”

Thomas’s heartbeat quickened.

“Really?”

“We were walking on top of a cliff, one very much like one around here,” Richard’s voice began describing. “It’s a lovely place, I got to see it two days ago and it clearly made an impression on me,” he explained as Thomas listened with interest. “But it was evening in my dreams. Summer. The smell of salt in the air, the ocean illuminated by the moonlight as far as your eye can reach. You feel like a bird, soaring high above everything and everyone…”

Thomas could almost picture the scene.

“We were walking hand in hand. You were smiling, the wind was in your hair, disheveling it but it never looked lovelier. We sat down on the grass and your eyes met mine.”

Thomas heard the sound of his own jagged breath echo off the mouth piece. Richard went on:

“There was no one there but us; plain grassland stretching for miles behind us, and miles of vast sea before us. But we were standing so close to each other that you could only hear the sound of our breathing. I moved in even closer. So did you. I breathed in the scent of your cologne.”

Thomas listened as if he were mesmerized, his mouth slightly parted and his throat getting unusually dry.

“I kissed your cheek, then your ear,” Richard’s low voice said. “And then I pressed another kiss behind it where I felt your heartbeat under my lips. I threaded my fingers through your hair and you leaned into the touch-”

“Richard,” Thomas’s voice said weakly into the telephone. He wasn’t expecting this. How was Richard able to talk about these things so confidently, candidly? Over the telephone! Even though there was no operator who could listen in on their conversation, wasn’t he afraid of anyone walking in on him and overhearing those words?

“Your hair was so soft,” the other man’s voice went on lovingly. “I kissed down the side of your neck and wrapped my hands around your back.”

An unwilling and indistinct sound curled from out of Thomas’s throat. His lungs seemed to have lost the ability to breathe properly and his body felt tense.

“You turned towards me and our lips brushed against each other ever so slightly. I pressed my hand against your chest and we leaned into a kiss. I tasted you, I felt you, love; I felt your body flush against mine, your warm skin and your rapid heartbeat. You were so real under my fingertips.”

A shaky breath escaped Thomas’s mouth.

“Richard-”

“You took off your shirt and I took off mine.”

_Don’t- god, don’t talk like this, please,_ he though – but he didn’t really want Richard to stop.

“I moved my hand lower, brushing down your chest and abdomen.”

Thomas’s palms were sweaty and his knuckles were almost red from squeezing the edge of his desk.

“My fingers undid the button on your trousers, and then I reached down to touch you, my darling.”

Thomas’s took a shuddering breath at Richard’s words and his eyes slid closed. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, aching to escape the confinement of his ribcage.

“I wrapped my fingers around you as we shared a breath, and I felt your hands on my back, pulling us chest-to-chest as we lay down onto the grass.”

Thomas’s swallowed nervously and his legs felt weak. He felt his own erection pressing hard against his trousers. He was almost able to _feel_ everything Richard was describing and he couldn’t stop envisioning Richard’s lips as he spoke.

“_God,_ Rich-” he tried again, but his voice failed him. He was losing himself in Richard’s words. He wondered how he was still managing to stand upright, even though he was leaning against the desk with his free hand.

“I lay over you and kissed you as I moved my hand, and you moved your body into my palm; we fell into a rhythm with the waves below us, with the wind blowing through the soft green grass under and around us.”

“Richard-”

“The rhythm quickened; the waves began crashing against the rocks bellow, the wind started howling, our bodies moved together as one, our lips inseparably fused together-”

Thomas felt his hard-on throbbing in his trousers. _Jesus, pull yourself together!_

“We moved faster and faster, and your breaths came rapidly, panting, your broken words urging me-”

“Richard, please-”

“-and I ached with desire to please you, darling.”

“_God…_” 

“You leaned your head back, and gave yourself to me – and then everything went still and silent,” Richard’s soft voice finished. “We lay side by side under the clear night sky. I held your hand in mine and I felt your breathing against my chest, felt the heat from your body, knowing that you were there with me and no longer only a memory, only an elusive wish.”

The voice coming from the receiver went quiet. Everything that Thomas could hear were his own stunned, shaky breaths.

“Did-did you really dream this?”

It was the first thought that crystallized in Thomas’s mind that he could utter. He heard a small chuckle on the other side.

“I didn’t say I dreamt it at night,” Richard said with a flirtatious undertone. “But I do dream of it, Thomas. Maybe we could make it a reality? When we see each other again?”

Thomas had to close his eyes for a second to steady his overwhelmed mind, but then he smiled softly into the telephone.

“We could. Just maybe not on top of a cliff…”

Richard’s voice laughed on the other side.

“Perhaps somewhere less conspicuous, yes,” he added.

“Was that your plan all along?” Thomas went on, slowly regaining his senses and clarity of the mind. “Call me so you could tell me this dream?”

Richard smiled once again.

“Maybe… I can put many things into writing, but I figured this one might deliver the message better if I told it to you.”

Thomas grinned incredulously on the other side.

“Mission accomplished.”

There was a short but not unpleasant pause before Richard spoke again.

“I have to go now… D’you want me to bring you anything from the trip?”

“Just you,” Thomas replied almost instantly. “I just want to see you again.”

“We’ll see each other soon,” Richard replied, and there was a strong sense of both longing and assurance in his voice. “Goodnight, Thomas.”

“Goodnight, Richard.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do google Chettle House if you have time, it's a real place and pretty lovely :)

13 September, 1927

Had a pretty busy day, half-done with packing but will finish it tomorrow before breakfast. His Majesty has been staying over at Chettle House for the past two days, and tomorrow we head for Dorchester where he has some business to sort out and is then to dine with the Earl and his family.

The Master and Mistress of Chettle House, Lord and Lady Chafin, have hosted a small ball in King’s honour last evening. I didn't have much to do, but I've heard a lot of complaining from the servants downstairs because the preparations for the entire affair were, as anything that involves the King of England, pretty hectic. No surprise here.

This evening however, most of us visiting staff members were granted some free time. As for me I had to avoid getting roped into a sort of a servants’ outing. A few of the staff at Chettle are going and they’ve invited us to join them as there is apparently a small party in town. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a night out and a bit of fun, I’m sure I wouldn’t mind it, but I have a good reason for not having been too keen on the idea when it came up.

Lady Chafin’s young lady’s maid is apparently (and rather unfortunately) somewhat smitten with me, it would seem. Didn't even notice it until John, one of the footmen, pointed out that she's had her eye on me – in his words – ever since we arrived.

Since then I’ve been paying more attention to the girl and it turns out that John may have been right. I didn't think much of her subtle advances, in retrospect not even when she asked me whether there was a 'Mrs Ellis'... Should have been more attentive, it wasn’t the first time I’ve had to avoid a similar situation. But earlier today she asked me if I would be interested in joining her and the party who were going dancing in town this evening. Of course, I didn't want to be rude but I also didn’t want to give her the wrong impression, so declined. If I consider the little interaction that we’ve had I can certainly assume that she’s a lovely young lady, even though I never caught her name (or bothered to remember it, perhaps...).

Went for a walk around the estate instead. I do miss the seaside, but the nature and the gardens here are so lovely, it would be a shame to miss it all. Must write to Thomas about this place! It absolutely feeds one's poetic soul, whether one has one or not. Most importantly, in all its serenity it allows me to keep nothing but my dear Sunray on my mind. Wouldn't have been able to think of anything other than him had I gone to the bloody dance anyway.

I grow fonder of Thomas with each letter he writes, and perhaps even – ironically – with each day I spend without him. The distance between us, as unwanted as it is, is not entirely bad. It works like a magnet, fuelling my desire for him, the words in his letters keeping ablaze the fire that he started in me.

I adore him, this dashing, witty, silly man. This daring man who stood up to his superior for shafting him aside. This man who so recklessly embarked on his little adventure in York – yet in his presence it is _me_ who tends to be the reckless one!

Our conversation over the telephone lingers with me. God, it was dangerous, but I regret nothing. It was probably one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done, and _he_ was worth the risk. When I first heard his voice on the other side, I wasn’t sure I would be able to go through with my plan because I felt so overcome with emotion. His voice. Nothing else, his voice alone was and is enough to bring a smile to my face. I hope it didn’t show, but adrenaline was rushing through my veins all along as I was describing my dream to him. I do think he enjoyed it very much, and that was the main objective of course.

Wherever I am, everything reminds me of him. At daytime it’s the cloudy sky; when I look at it, all I see are his stormy eyes. Even the walls of the Chettle manor remind me of his red lips; those lips that are meant to be kissed. I look at the sun and I see my Sunray. I look at the stars and the moon at night and I remember our little secret and what he wrote to me: “You shone down like a moonbeam of silver light”.

His unguardedness both delights and scares me. I love that he trusts me as much as I trust him, but with such words he also puts me on a pedestal that I fear I’m not worthy of...

I’ve never had what I have with Thomas, as little as it may be. Not with anyone before. The intimacy I feel with him, the closeness – despite us being miles apart from each other – both nourish me and yet destroy me, for I cannot be with him. It’s easy to plunge into something where you feel no obligation. Being in my position – in _our_ position – that is often the best you can hope for. But with Thomas I want more than that. I wouldn’t have given him the pendant if my intentions were insincere.

As much as I hate being away from him, I do revel in our correspondence immensely. It gives me something to look forward to; a hope. I look at his watch every day, and though it doesn’t tell me the right time, it tells me something far more important – that he cares.


	6. Chapter 6

17 September, 1927

My beloved Moonbeam,

Thank you very much for the postcard you sent me, it’s lovely. I’m assuming that the cliff pictured is the same one from your “dream”? Either way, it’s really beautiful and I must admit that I envy you for having the opportunity to see so much of the world, even if it might be predominantly England. I haven’t yet got around to asking you this, but since your job allows you to travel quite extensively, surely you’ve seen some wonderful places? What are some of the nicest ones that you’ve visited? Here or abroad; describe them to me, I want to hear all about them.

I still cannot believe that our telephone conversation really happened! You caught me quite off guard, compelling me to listening to your sweet words that were so viciously set to drown me slowly in the most decadent of pleasures. I do not doubt that was your intention all along, and I thank you for it – but to think that it was you who told _me_ that _I_ should be more cautious!

I ardently await the day when we see each other again, so that I may show you what my dreams look like. I daren't put them in writing or even in spoken word over the telephone, but I promise to whisper them to you when you are once again in my arms.

I wish I had something exciting to tell you, but life at D remains rather very much the same as always. No, I haven't gotten myself into any trouble (although your recital over the telephone, had it been overheard, could have certainly arranged that).

The Ps came over yesterday after tea and all the children were reunited, playing outside in the garden, enjoying some fresh air and autumn sun. They wanted to play husbands and wives, but between Master G, Miss S and Miss M (Miss C is still too young) there was one husband too few and neither of the girls wanted to be the daughter or the lonely spinster aunt. So then our clever Miss S came up with the solution – that _I_ should be her husband. I did have some time to spare and Nanny Watson agreed to it; so I’m now informing you that I’ve tied the knot, my dearest. I quite enjoyed my role as a husband for one afternoon, but I think this will be my first and last marriage. I was very lucky to have had such a great wife, though; she cooked for me and baked me cookies, and all three of her dolls were our children. What a day! 

Speaking of husbands and wives… I had a thought - luck is so determined not to be our ally, but perhaps we could arrange a meeting after all, however it will still be a while. Our assistant cook D and footman A are getting married sometime around the 20th next month (they still haven’t determined the exact date, but I will probably be able to give you the details in my next letter). I was hoping that I might ask them if I could invite you, perhaps? As a friend, of course. No one need suspect anything. They both liked you when you were here and they know that the two of us are staying in touch. If you _wish_ to come to their wedding that is; I only figured it could be a decent excuse for us to see each other.

I’m afraid the Cs won’t be coming to London much these days – nothing notable until the season, I’m afraid, and that basically counts me out of accompanying them. After you get back, I can maybe take a day off and visit you, but I doubt we can hope for more. The pros of my job are sadly also its cons; I'm an authority and make sure that rules are implemented, but I don’t make them, which effectively makes me just as trapped as any other working class lad or lass. Not that a day wouldn’t be enough – a second would be enough if it meant seeing you, touching you.

How I wish I could put into words half as much as you have said to me. Your velvety voice still echoes in my ears. I feel your lips on mine, your touch on my skin. I smell your aftershave as vividly as the day we met.

First time we spoke, when I showed you upstairs to your bedroom. You followed behind and then walked by me as you entered the room. That’s when I first glanced at you properly. You reminded me of someone; someone I knew a long time ago. Your energy, confidence, your sense of humour, even that sparkle in your eyes.

And I didn’t dare, not for a second did I dare to assume that you could be… So I refrained, because I’ve been wrong before. I’m sure you of all people will understand what sort of consequences being wrong in that regard can have.

I remember that even though I thanked you for saving me from that situation in York, I never properly apologized for not having faith in you to show up at the pub. In retrospect, I suppose it wasn’t so much the lack of faith in you joining me, but rather my certainty at the time that I was merely waiting for a friend. I need you to know that I wouldn’t have left that pub all night if I knew how you felt. As things were, I didn’t dare presume anything. It’s not much of an excuse, but you must know this.

Not a day goes by without me thinking of you, wondering what you are doing and how you are faring. I hope to see you soon.

Your devoted Sunray


	7. Chapter 7

23 September, 1927

My darling Sunray,

I believe congratulations are in order. Marriage, you don't say! I was rather hoping to have you all to myself, but alas, who am I to compete with the adorable Miss S?

I should love nothing more than to attend D & A's wedding, but you must let me know what they reply to the idea of having me there; I would hate to feel as if I'm imposing. Yet then again, as selfish as this may sound, I believe I would still wish to come either way - It's you I'm coming to see after all.

You ask me what the most beautiful place that I've visited is. I'm putting myself at risk of coming across as sentimental, but in all honesty the loveliest place I can imagine at this moment is beside you. Wherever you are, that's my favourite place.

But in any case; to satisfy your curiosity, I suppose I have fond memories from many places. France was quite nice and Paris is a lovely place, there is so much to see (which I sadly only got a glimpse of). From wonderful old architecture to history and art – but as far as food is concerned, I have mixed feelings on that; their bread, pastries and sweets are delicious, but admittedly some of the delicacies can be a bit of a gamble for the English taste buds.

I've only been to the States once, however it was not with H.M. I was visiting a cousin in Pennsylvania. For that short week or so, I can tell you that I rather enjoyed getting acquainted with the American way of life. It's quite a difference to how we keep things here; less emphasis on the tradition and propriety, which I can't claim was an unwelcome change.

I was actually supposed to go to India not too long after I started as a valet but I fell ill less than a week before the departure, so there's that…

Back in the North of York where I grew up, there is a lovely little forest. I should like to take you there someday when you come for a visit. I spent a lot of my childhood there as a young lad. It's most beautiful in the early mornings; the sun shining through small, narrow patches in the tree tops, the fresh smell of tall pine trees rising above you, cool morning air turning your breath into mist, dry pine needles under your feet, a stream gushing somewhere in the distance, weaving its way past the trees… And in the middle of the forest there is a little clearing; it’s always been my favourite place. It’s hardly a secret, given how exposed one is there, but because it’s so deep in the woods it really does feel like one could bury all of his secrets there, only even to be heard by the murmuring wind carrying them from tree to tree.

Having shared my favourite places with you, you can naturally expect me to be just as curious about you. Write to me, dearest; in your next letter tell me where my Sunray has been and where he wants to go. As a matter of fact, tell me more about you in general. You mentioned that you have a sister (and I gather you’re fond of dancing), but I wish to know more about you.

Considering I’m prompting you to this, let me lead by example; I’m half-Irish on my mother’s side. I have no siblings but I do have many cousins and other relatives living all across the globe. My eldest cousin was a musician; he died onboard the notorious Titanic in 1912, but his body was recovered and his belongings sent back to his family. Among them was a silver pendant with our family’s crest which now finds its home somewhere in North Yorkshire. It had a rather turbulent history, being passed over from one member of our family to the next, often the most desired item in anyone’s will. From my poor cousin it came into my possession, and instead of continuing the line of boasting with a status symbol I decided to use it for something better; to express my love.

I do not blame you for what happened in York, I never would. My dear Sunray, it I'm more than sympathetic to your situation; it's mine as well as it is yours. I've been burnt a couple of times myself, I should admit. Perhaps I've been avoiding taking risks as of late, which is naturally the consequence of my position. I don't think I would have made a move had you not found yourself in that specific situation; despite what your rather telling eyes might have been saying to me ever since the day they met mine from across the table downstairs.

You write how you remember our first meeting, but _my_ memory of our first encounter goes a little bit further back.

I took notice of you just as we arrived at D. I stepped out of the car and you were the first thing I saw; you were nervous (largely due to Mr W, but of course you weren't the first), eager to present D at its finest. I don't think you noticed me at that time – not properly at least – but that's understandable. It was only right to give your full attention to Mr W and try to make a favourable impression, though as you’ve undoubtedly discovered for yourself – we all fail at that without fault.

You were all I saw that morning. Tall, dashing, raven-haired – I never dared to presume I stood a chance either! Yet looking back, perhaps the incident in York wasn't all bad. It gave us a chance to strip ourselves of the facade which we generally have to put up. If you hadn't found yourself in that position, I doubt we'd be corresponding as we are now, so do not hold it against me if I say that I’m thankful for it in a way.

As I finish my letter, I leave you with a poem. It’s by Symonds, perhaps you know it. I'm eager to hear all about what your dreams of us look like; but as for me, I dream that one day we may be allowed to taste such bliss:

Half-light of dawn in the hushed upper room,

Where all night long two comrades, side by side,

Have slumbered in the summer-scented gloom,

Fanned by faint breezes from a window wide.

He sleeps, and stirs not. He meanwhile awake,

Steadfastly gazing and with mind intent

To drink soul-deep of beauty, dares not break

By breath or sigh his own heart's ravishment.

Your ever-faithful, Moonbeam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is a part from "The Sleeper" by J. A. Symonds.


	8. Chapter 8

30 September, 1927

Dearest Moonbeam,

I must start this letter by telling you the good news; it pleases me to tell you that I’ve spoken to D & A, and they would love to have you attend their wedding. You may now consider yourself officially invited. I can also finally let you know the exact date, as promised; the wedding is on the 19th. Expect a proper invitation to arrive in a couple of days. With some luck we will see each other in less than a month, my dear!

As happy as I am that I will get to wrap my arms around you when you come to D, your previous letter has made me yearn to visit your childhood home. Once you return (and after the wedding) I shall make sure to get enough time off to come to York with you and see the place where you were born and grew up.

I cannot believe the story about the pendant. What an interesting and tragic history that little item has! I now feel even more humbled and privileged to hold it in my hands.

I can hardly compete with such an exciting story, but let me attempt to unveil some of my life to you. As you’ve correctly guessed, I’m very fond of dancing. It was Emily, my sister, who taught me many different dances. We didn’t have any music or instruments at home, but we would hum the tunes of different songs and in late afternoons she would teach me the steps.

When we got a bit older I’d accompany her to the local pub where we could spend hours dancing. It was both my delight to go with her, and it put our parents’ minds at ease to know that she had a man by her side. We had loads of fun, but soon young men began noticing Emily for all her beauty and grace – at that point, naturally, dancing with a strapping young admirer became more interesting than dancing with her brother.

But in truth, I didn’t mind it, not at all. I loved to see her happy. I suppose maybe I was experiencing some of that happiness through her. As vain as it may sound, I was never short of dancing partners - but as much fun as they were, none of them was ever what I would have preferred, and I could never give them what they were hoping for.

I actually know Miss B (Lady G’s lady’s maid, as you will remember) from childhood. She and Emily were great friends and our parents loved it when young Miss B came by; she was poised and kind and everything a young girl should be. Judging by the way my father treated her, my child’s mind often imagined that he liked her better than his own son.

My relationship with my father doesn’t bring about the most pleasant of memories and I’m sure you will understand why. He was a stern and serious man, a clockmaker by profession. He taught me everything I know about clocks, but our relationship was always rather formal. He passed away a few years ago.

My mum still lives in our hometown, Ilkley. Emily visits her more often than I have the chance to. Distance and life drove us apart, but my sister and I still keep in touch. She’s married to a nice man and they seem happy together, even though they never had children.

You might be surprised to learn that I’ve been to America once as well. I was accompanying his Lordship when he visited Lady G’s brother. It was a short trip – more so business than pleasure – and I spent most of my time on a ship anyway. I can’t say it wasn’t nice abroad, but I prefer the English soil. Especially as of late I find myself drawn to the South of the country. I wonder if a certain someone who is currently there might be the reason for that…

As unpleasant as the incident in York was for me I cannot deny that I agree with you; things did turn out for the better in the end. Never in a million years did I expect to see you there, much less to see you be the one who saved me from far more than just embarrassment. I’m thankful that it brought us together.

I said that I don’t feel entirely comfortable writing about certain things, but my desire to let you know how much I adore you grows beyond my fear of what I put into words. When I lay down tonight I’ll dream of you, my love; I’ll dream of you before I fall asleep and hopefully even as I close my eyes. I’ll dream of us together, in the clearing in your forest and on the cliff above the ocean, walking together hand in hand where no one can judge us; doing things that no one will see us do, where no one will sully our love with their accusations. I’ll dream of you falling asleep by my side, like those two in your poem. I’ll dream of my hand on your cheek, my lips on your lips, my soul with your soul.

You’ve roused emotions in my heart which I’ve worked so hard on containing because I couldn’t risk them overwhelming me. Much like they are now – but you make me want to embrace them. If it’s _you_, I want to feel everything!

Thank you for your beautiful poem. You make me dream of lovely and dangerous things, putting ideas into my head that I can never erase. Of course, I would never willingly choose to erase them, but my urge to make them a reality grows greedy and hungry as I long for your touch. I’m afraid that Lord G’s library is scarce of anything as explicitly unconventional as Symonds, but there is a treasury of classics who despite their eccentricity cannot be denied their place among the brilliant ones.

O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!  
O ship with the wet, white sail!  
Put in, put in, to the port to me!  
For my love and I would go  
To the land where the daffodils blow  
In the heart of a violet dale!  
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!  
O ship with the wet, white sail!

I kiss you most ardently,

Your Sunray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I could find, we don't know Thomas's exact hometown. I chose Ilkley because it's where Max Brown (Richard Ellis) was born. :)
> 
> The poem is "Under The Balcony" by Wilde.


	9. Chapter 9

__7 October, 1927

My brightest Sunray,

Words cannot express how eagerly I await your letters every morning and how much it brightens up my day to find a new one waiting for me. It may be daft, but I’ve never been as dependent on a piece of paper as I am on those that consist of little fragments of you; from all the thoughts that were born in your mind, to the very shapes of letters drawn by your hand when it put those thoughts into words, to the very ink and stamps – all those (even the most banal) pieces of you make me feel closer to you in some way, and I cherish them dearly while we are apart.

Now I get to see you at long last, in two weeks! My heart is absolutely bursting with joy! I’ll be sure to make all the arrangements so that I can be there. Nothing will keep me away, I promise you. We were informed today that we are scheduled to return to London on the 17th. Could that be any more perfect?

I wear your gift on me every day, and when I look at it I am reminded of how soon _our time_ will begin again. I don’t know whether we will have days or hours together this time around, but I shall do my best to make some necessary excuses and prolong my trip. I already know that my superior, Mr W, won’t be too fond of it, but I suspect that H.M. will be more easily convinced to give me a few days off now that I’ve served him so loyally on this tour.

My love, it pleases me to hear about how you spent your childhood and teenage years. Your sister sounds like a lovely person, and I’m glad that you have her in your life. I had no idea about Miss B. I could see that you two were on friendly terms, but I wouldn’t have guessed that you knew each other from an early age.

I am however very sorry to hear about your father; but yes, I certainly do see how such a thing has the potential to cause a riff between two people. I must confess that I’ve been slightly luckier in that department, perhaps due to my general discretion. I do believe that my parents know (or at the very least suspect) that no future daughter-in-law will be walking through the door of their house in any foreseeable future. I don’t think that they concern themselves with my matters, so long everything remains covert – something which is in my interest just the same, of course.

You write that you want to feel everything with me, and darling, I need you to know that I wish the same. I know that we have hardly spent any time together in person, but I’ve grown so fond of you through these letters that it feels like I’ve known you much longer. I should love to take you to all my favourite places from my childhood; after I come to visit you, you’ll most certainly be obliged to return the favour.

I think of you every night, wishing I could hold you close to me as I instead fall asleep with a slow-burning desire in my heart and an emptiness in my bed. I know it’s an idealist dream, but everyone is allowed to have one – even men like us.

I will assume that you’ve already opened the little parcel that arrived along with the letter, so this following explanation to its contents will likely come with a bit of a delay. I have no idea whether they’re any good, but maybe you’ll be fonder of them than H.M.

There was a grand dinner and another ball yesterday; every major house where we stay seems to be keen on hosting one for H.M., usually doing their utmost and trying to stand out in some way, make it memorable for their special visitors. The servants of this household said that some strings were pulled and an outrageous sum of money spent on importing these luxurious exotic cigars from God knows where – all in H.M.’s honour.

They were meant to place an order for _one_ box with a dozen cigars, but by mistake they received a dozen _boxes_ instead. The trouble that people go through just to please a very important man! In all its tragedy, it sometimes makes for the best stories.

Before you start to worry, don’t; as I didn’t nick one. Given the surplus of the order H.M. wasn’t gifted only one box, as was originally intended, but three. He tried one cigar this morning on our way to Cornwall, but announced that he will rather stay true to his good ole English cigarettes. He generously distributed the contents of those three boxes, even to us poor buggers who only cater to him.

I don’t smoke myself so I naturally thought that it would make a more fitting gift for you. Tell me if it makes a more favourable impression on you than it has on H.M.

Allow me to conclude my letter with the following; as things stand, I believe I still owe you a proper date after our last disaster. We must rectify that, mustn’t we? This time we needn’t go to any public place if you agree. I was rather hoping you’d know of some private or hidden places in the vicinity of D. Somewhere where we won’t get interrupted or scrutinized; somewhere only for us. We might not have music or a proper dance floor there but if you’d like it, I’ll be saving a dance for you, love.

I revel in the fact that I’m closer to seeing you with each passing day,

With all my devotion,

your Moonbeam 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but finally here's another chapter :) 19 Oct is approaching ;)

11 October, 1927

Matters at Downton are more or less the same as per usual. Lady Mary and Mr Talbot have returned from their stay in London, and both the Dowager and the Pelhams are paying us a visit tomorrow, so we’ll be a bit busier for dinner.

With Daisy and Andy’s wedding preparations in full swing, we’ve taken on two new kitchen maids to allow our bride-to-be some more free time. The two girls, Maggie and Alice, started yesterday. They seem sweet but quite shy, and they’re still very young and inexperienced. Mrs Patmore certainly hasn’t lost her touch with witty remarks, as bossy as they may be at times, so I think once the girls get accustomed to that, they will fit in very well here.

As more or less monotonous days go by, the only truly relevant thing worth mentioning is Richard. I cannot wait to see him, can barely wait until the 19th!

With his last letter he sent me a cigar that was gifted to His Majesty himself. I’m smoking it as I’m writing this, but I want to save it because it’s _his_ gift. I’ve thought of something I’ll send to Rich in my next letter, since he always spoils me not only with beautiful words but also with little presents.

Even though we only spent so few moments together in person, after all these letters I feel like I’ve gotten to know Richard rather well. I adore what I know about him already, and I yearn to meet more of him.

It’s come so far that the most lewd and impure dreams consume me. They grow bolder and more full of desire. I crave for his touch which I only felt for a few stolen seconds in reality. Because we’ve been apart for so long he continues to feel intangible, even when I know he is very much real. He’s a man made of flesh and blood – and my own flesh craves to touch his, uninhibited; my blood burns like fire in my veins at the thought of him; my heart beckons to be allowed to beat together with his. I want him.

I crave not only for his company, for his brilliant mind, clever and witty words; but also for the touch of his hand, for the kiss of his lips that I ever so briefly got to savour.

I cling on to anything and everything that I have of him, but it’s more than enough to send my imagination soaring. Despite all I have of Rich for now being memories and words and echoes of his voice in my ears, in those dreams of mine he’s real; I can taste his skin, smell his aftershave, I can feel the weight of his body against mine and his hardness against mine. I want him with me, against me, skin to skin; I dream of being inside him and I want him inside me.

I want to enjoy it again, and unlike ever before I long to be allowed to experience it like everyone else does. It’s becoming a heavier burden every day, having to hide my hopes and my love for this wonderful man, but I struggle the most with accepting this: as blissful as our reality may be once we see each other again, our love will never be allowed to dance under the daylight of the sun.

Writing this down seems almost idealist, since I know that by now I should have long come to terms with the fact that there is no alternative for men like us – we cannot afford to daydream about acceptance.

But with Richard, having to hide our love seems so wrong. He might find me foolish for thinking this, but having to contain my adoration for him can be arduous at times.

What makes it the most difficult is knowing that he feels the same. It’s not a one-sided love that I’ve fallen victim to far too many times in the past. It’s not a trap made with kind smiles that lure you in. If it were only that, it would be easy to hide because it would be an illusion in itself. A mere want, a desire, an outlandish dream. It will never be real, so it’s only natural that it should stay a shrouded fantasy.

But Richard is not a dream. I wish to tell the world that I want to be his, and I want him to be mine. Our love should be no less sacred than any other. What is between us feels too beautiful to be forced into the shadows. Forced into exile of the moon, like a foul creature of the night. Ah, but then again it may not be so bad after all. The moonlight is just as beautiful, perhaps even more so.

He gives me hope that something more is possible. Because he is in my life I look forward to things in the future that fill me with excitement and optimism. Hardships are inevitable, but the positivity that he’s brought into my every-day mundane life is a flame that burns hot inside my heart.

I love him dearly, and since I cannot utter it to anyone else I might at least share it with a piece of paper.


	11. Chapter 11

18 October, 1927

Returned to London yesterday. As much as I enjoyed the trip to the south of the country, I couldn’t be happier to finally be back. The main reason for my excitement is, of course, getting to see my dearest _tomorrow_.

As I’m writing this, I’m sat comfortably in my cosy little compartment on the train to Yorkshire. Can put my feet up and relax for the rest of the journey. The fashionable elderly lady sitting opposite me seems more interested in what I’m putting down than she is in her book, which is rather amusing.

My body is tired but every fibre of my being is eager to see _him_. I’m holding his watch in my hand, a reminder that our time together is approaching.

I’ve managed to arrange three full days off for myself, and I’m hoping that I can spend them with my darling Sunray. Naturally, he knows that I’m coming to the wedding, but he doesn’t know that I’ll be staying at The Grantham Arms a few extra days. I do hope that he is pleased with this surprise.

He sent me a gift with his last letter; a little tie clip with a silver crescent moon on it. How clever! I adore it, and I adore this man. His mind and his face, his whole being. His mere existence and knowing that we think about each other is somehow enough to make me the happiest man alive. At random moments of the day, I casually remember that he's a part of my life and it brings a smile to my face.

I’ll proudly wear his little gift tomorrow at the wedding. It’s the most beautiful thing! I only hope it didn’t cost him a fortune… I love sending him a small present here and there, but a silver tie clip cannot be compared with a postcard or a fancy cigar, one which I got for free anyhow. Of course the pendant is another story. I gave it to him so that a part of me can be with him always, since I myself unfortunately cannot be.

We have yet to follow through with this meeting, but I’m already musing about how and when we might be able to see each other again. Hopefully we can visit one another more frequently and more easily now that His Majesty is staying in London, at least for the foreseeable future.

In truth, I’m almost nervous to see my dearest. I could never admit it to anyone, but I’m filled with both joyful expectation as well as with a whispering sense of uncertainty. A reservation.

It seems silly; I don’t want to get too attached or fantasize about all the possibilities for us because I might be the more eager one. I know that he cares for me, he’s more than proven it and he’s given me no reason to doubt his feelings… I just don’t want to build castles in the air. Yet contrary to this, I sometimes also worry if the distance between us could prove too much. If the letters alone could eventually fail to convey the warmth of my hands and the passion in my heart. Because even if we can see each other more often now, we will primarily still have to rely on letter-writing. I mentioned once that letters make me feel closer to him since they're so intimate, so private and secretive - and they do. But I also want to feel his touch, not only his words.

Oddly enough, the thought of seeing him again after over a month makes me feel almost inadequate in a way. As if the letters and words have set an ideal that the man in flesh and blood somehow might not reach. It makes no sense, but I feel slightly and strangely insecure.

The memory of our one and only kiss lingers on my lips. The feelings that I have for Thomas have reminded me how much I resent the world for how it treats men like us, how we must tailor ourselves to fit in, unnoticed – yet on the other hand I thank the universe a thousand times for sending that wonderful man into my life.

As I say, it is probably foolish to daydream about the future; about the chance that we could somehow, someday live closer to each other, perhaps. About things such as waking up in a warm bed, next to him. About kissing and touching him passionately all night, and then holding him close at the break of day when the sunlight shines through the curtains and paints his face gold as I listen to him talk about anything and everything that he wishes to talk about. He may not be the first person I see when I open my eyes, but he is the first person I think about. People may say we’re sinners, but if they could ever feel this love that fills my heart they could say no such thing.

Ah, but that’s all still too far ahead in the elusive future. It would be unwise of me to make too much of it, but I can hardly help myself. For _him_, no journey is too long or too bothersome. I’d be willing to give up things I never thought I could if it meant I got to be with Thomas. Perhaps some are reckless ideas, but for _him_ I would consider them. If it’s for him, it’s all worth it. _He_’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want take this chance (lest I forget) to thank you all for your lovely comments that you've left on this work so far. Even if I haven't replied to all of them, know that I read them and it makes me very happy that you're enjoying this fanfic. :)  
p.s. as you can see, they'll be seeing each other very soon ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little bit longer :)

Thomas arrived to the wedding a little bit late due to some last-minute arrangements. He was the reliable friend, entrusted by the bride and the groom with some organizational matters for the reception. He considered it an honour, but between running Downton and arranging things for this occasion Thomas had been spreading himself pretty thin during the last few weeks or so.

He was hoping to sit together with Richard during the ceremony, but because of his tardiness he ended up taking an empty seat at the end of a pew.

He did see Richard, however. He was tall enough to stand out. The back of his brown-haired head was rising above the crowd somewhere in the middle of one of the pews. They exchanged a glance, but not a word yet.

And now he was standing outside the church, in his dark blue coat and a matching bowler hat; he was just putting on his gloves, and as he exhaled a breath of cold air it turned to thin mist around him.

Thomas observed him; he shook Daisy and Andy’s hand, congratulating them, and then he smiled cordially as they exchanged a few brief words. It was a smile that Thomas wanted to engrave into his memory forever; part of Richard’s face was gently illuminated by the morning sun, his white teeth were on display, and a sparkle in his eyes was completing the radiance.

Richard turned his head around and his eyes found Thomas’s. The black-haired man was eagerly walking towards him, but he paused in his tracks for the briefest moment when he was spotted.

His hesitation only lasted a heartbeat, but Thomas felt shot by that stare. It was a swift bullet of reality, but unlike a real bullet this one was very much desired. Everything they’d built with ink and paper suddenly became animate. After over a month of separation and only weeks of knowing each other prior to that, they’d finally awaited this day.

“Mr Barrow,” Richard greeted him and tipped his hat as Thomas slowly approached.

“Mr Ellis.”

Thomas’s words sounded strange in his ears; after all their exchanges calling him ‘Mr Ellis’ certainly seemed too formal.

His eyes fell on Richard’s tie and the silver clip pinned on the lower half of it; a little crescent reflecting the sunlight. Thomas smiled bashfully.

“How was your trip?” he asked with genuine interest.

Richard gave him a half-smile. “Quite pleasant. I could easily get used to it,” he added and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Thomas had read the message between the lines, but he was bewildered by its objective. He wasn’t used to anyone suggesting that they're willing to regularly travel all this way just to see him. It warmed his heart and it was even better because there wasn’t even a fraction of a doubt that he would do the same for Richard.

“So… where are you staying then? The Grantham Arms?”

“Yes,” Richard nodded. “Got three full days off.”

Thomas’s face seemed to light up at those words, and he felt a bit bolder. He took a step closer, allowing himself a brief moment to appreciate Richard’s form.

“Three days?” he repeated. “That’s generous. Any plans?”

Richards smiled contently.

“Don't know yet. But I'd wager I’m gonna need someone to show me around,” the brown-haired man said with a barely distinguishable smirk. “Last time I was here, we ran off to York. The time I spent here at Downton was more work than pleasure... Was hoping to fix that.”

Thomas tried not to let his emotions show up in his face, but looking at Richard made it impossible not to smile.

"Maybe we can fix that by making those _dreams_ of yours come true, Mr Ellis," he replied and watched Richard's smile widen, mirroring Thomas’s.

"Glad to hear you suggest that. Just hope you don’t get tired of me,” Richard commented, clearly trying to tease, but his grin faltered a little and there was an undertone of insecurity in those last words. Thomas sensed it and furrowed his brow incredulously.

“Tired of you? You make my life far more exciting than everyone here.”

Richard’s expression turned into an unguarded and appreciative smile. His gaze fell lower and he noticed the pendant at the end of the chain on Thomas’s waistcoat.

“This little thing suits you very well, Mr Barrow,” he said, gesturing towards it. He leaned in inconspicuously and lowered his voice. “But you shouldn’t ‘ve splurged on this,” he added and touched his own tie clip.

Thomas’s mouth stretched into a smug half-smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t _splurge_,” he said. “Got it for Christmas two years ago, but I never seem to wear it. No right occasion. It’s lovely an’ all, but it shouldn’t be in my drawer collecting dust. Besides,” he added with a coy smirk. “I had a feeling that the moon would be very much right for you.”

Richard caught Thomas’s eyes and for a moment a spark that flew between them enveloped them with some invisible force, into a privacy of their own.

“Thank you,” he said in an earnest and grateful tone that made Thomas's heart skip a beat.

“Don’t mention it. I _want_ you to have it. Something of mine.”

Richard smiled.

“Speaking of that,” he said in and reached into his pocket. “I already have something of yours, don’t I?”

He pulled out the little silver watch and held it our carefully between them.

“Our time,” he whispered quietly and Thomas felt the secretive and significant tone of those words settle warmly inside his heart.

“High time it continued,” Thomas said in response, somehow managing a flirtatious tone despite how ridiculously shaky all this happiness made him feel.

Richard remembered something that he’d read in the papers yesterday on the train. Not so much remembered, perhaps – it _had_ been lurking somewhere in the back of his mind ever since, and he knew he wanted to talk to Thomas about it but he wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it up.

“I’d been reading the local newspaper yesterday, hoping I could stay on top of the current events here at Downton…” He hesitated somewhat. “I… I saw that Lord Merton is apparently looking for a new valet.”

It was obvious that Richard was trying to sound casual, but he feared he may have introduced the matter rather awkwardly and with a blatantly obvious goal in mind.

Thomas caught his eye and the two men exchanged a strange glimpse, as if trying to synchronize their thoughts. Thomas nodded.

“He is, yes… his current valet is leaving to get married,” he commented.

“Not exactly the obvious life choice one would expect from a valet, but we are living in modern times I suppose,” Richard mused, now waltzing around the matter.

“Well, his Majesty needn’t fear losing _you_ to the same cause,” Thomas added teasingly.

Richard smiled and shook his head.

“Not to _this_ cause, no,” he said and continued in a more deliberate tone, meeting Thomas’s eyes once again. “But love can be a powerful reason why people make all sorts of decisions. Could you blame a man for wanting to be with his beloved?”

“No,” Thomas said lowly, a sort of ardour and expectation in his voice. His reply carried a hint of question.

“So a man may be leaving this post to start a family, but another man might apply for a job to be close to his dearest,” Richard continued, his eyes devoid of their usual mischievous self-assuredness which was almost always present. There was honesty, insecurity and hope. 

“I think that would show selflessness and devotion," Thomas said in reply. "His beloved would be over the moon about it.” His voice was close to shaking from the joy at the prospect of what Richard was so cryptically suggesting.

The doubt in the brown-haired man’s eyes faded away and a warm glimmer of happiness replaced it.

“Well... he might not get the job after all,” he said and smiled nervously.

Thomas stepped closer, feeling the body heat of the other man against his own skin as he did.

“The thought alone would count,” he said lowly, almost in a whisper, their faces dangerously close together. People around them seemed to have faded into the background, turned into still and bland silhouettes. “Just the fact that he would be willing to sacrifice so much-”

He paused in the middle of his sentence as Richard’s hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Not sacrifice,” he cut in calmly. “How could it be a sacrifice when the reward is the freedom to be with his beloved?”

Thomas was overcome by a terrible urge to kiss Richard– but he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t… And then the air around them became saturated with voices and chatter as the wedding guests came to life again.

Everyone was gathering up because the newlyweds were about to lead their guests to the wedding reception.

Along with the rest of them, Thomas and Richard headed down the dusty village road, letting the others go on merrily before them. Mr Mason’s farm, where the reception would be held, was only a short walking distance from the village church as well as from Downton. Rising behind the trees to their left were the pale orange walls of the manor, bathing in the golden rays of the autumn sun.

“Did you know, Mr Barrow,” Richard spoke as they sauntered along, letting the distance between them and the rest of the wedding guests increase. “Sometimes you can see the Moon and the Sun together in the sky.”

Thomas smiled at the random statement, but naturally recognized the metaphor hidden between the lines.

“And?” he asked.

Richard smirked. “Gives me hope. I have a strong feeling that the next three days might be such days.”

Thomas and Richard walked on, trailing behind everyone else. They were leaving the main village road behind and before them was a narrow forest path. Perhaps they were really getting closer to each other with every step, or perhaps this was just in Thomas’s head.

But then their fingers brushed together lightly, and Thomas knew it was real. As he turned his head, he was met by Richard’s smiling profile. He felt a warm palm and fingers discreetly entangle with his own.

They walked to the side, away from the path and a bit further into the forest, making sure they weren’t followed neither by footsteps nor eyes. They were out of sight, finding poor cover in the form of some sparsely scattered trees. Richard leaned his back against a tall oak and Thomas leaned in, pressing their lips together and resting his palm on Richard's chest, feeling his heartbeat under his fingertips. No one was there to judge them but the sun, the sky, and the first orange leaves of autumn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read this fic and left a lovely comment. I truly appreciate it and I'm glad that the response has been so positive. <3  
Not making any promises, but I'm leaving the options open for a sequel, probably not in the same format, but I do have some loose ideas for where Thomas and Richard's story could go from here.
> 
> Thanks again for joining me on this journey and I hope you enjoyed the story! :)


End file.
